Whispered Words of Comfort:Their Final Goodbye
by FictionAuthorInTraining
Summary: One-shot.Peter and Wendy pairing.Rated T for mildly graphic imagery involving a character's death.I'm not giving this one away with a summary.It deserves the mystery.You'll see what I mean once you've read it.Enjoy!


A/N- While in the midst of rethinking my Gone Modern version of Disney's Peter Pan last night, I became fascinated with the idea of what happens during, and then after, Wendy and Peter's final goodbye. This is a one-shot revolving around that idea. Fair warning, it might be depressing considering there is character death. Now, break out the ice cream and security blanket, and don't forget your favorite stuffed animal because this is going to be painful. Oh, and this story is focusing on the 2003 movie portrayal of the characters, not the Disney version. As always, Read, Review, and Enjoy- Jas

Whispered Words of Comfort: Their Final Goodbye

"I do not understand." Jane Haskell-Robertson confided to her husband, David, as they sat together in the parlor of the Darling home. "Who is this person mother keeps calling for?"

Dr. Warren looked up from packing his medical bag. "Most likely no one. Patients on the threshold of death often suffer delusions. Your mother's imagination, granted, is far more powerful than most what with her being a novelist, but it is still nothing more than that. Her overactive imaginings."

David Robertson clutched his bride's cold hand, kissing the back of it tenderly. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm sure my wife appreciates everything you've done thus far. Will you come again?"

"Yes. In a few days. But I don't expect much change in the elder Mrs. Haskell." Dr. Warren stated, gathering his things. He tipped his hat to the younger couple. "Good evening, Mrs. Robertson, Mr. Robertson."

Jane nodded and quietly stood. Ever the gracious hostess, she gently steered the physician out of the room. "Thank you. I'll show you to the door. Please, this way."

David watched his wife lead the man away and turned toward the window. The winter night was in full scope tonight, with sheets of ice and snow blanketing every visible surface. No doubt, Mother Wendy was sitting by the window upstairs taking it all in, same as him.

It was difficult to think of that vivacious, spirited lady as the distant, quiet-tempered woman lost in her dreams that had occupied the old nursery in the Darling house for these last six months. The sickness had come so suddenly, no one had realized how ill Mother Wendy was until it was too late. Not even she. Indeed, she had continued to work on her newest novel, ignoring her symptoms.

Footsteps pulled David from his musings and he turned away from the window to greet his wife. "Come my love." He stepped forward, spreading his arms wide in anticipation. Jane did not disappoint. She crossed the room and fell against his broad chest, curling her fingers into his hair and bowing her head. Her strong sobs echoed through the tiny room as he wrapped his arms about her petite frame, holding her in a comforting vice. "Shhh…" He soothed, kissing her hair. "Mother Wendy would not want to see you so sad. You know how she hates causing others pain. And you must rest. Your Uncle John is arriving in the morning, and Uncle Michael is coming around supper. They would hate to see their sweet niece looking so ragged."

Knowing he was right, Jane nodded. "Yes. Let's retire." She slowly regained her composure and moved out of the embrace. "I'll be a moment. I'm going to look in on mother."

David nodded. "I'll wait up for you."

Jane ascended the staircase very slowly, terribly afraid to reach the room where her mother before her, and then she, had spent her childhood. The room that was now her mother's bedroom, and likely to be the room she would spend her last moments in. But it was where the woman wanted to be. The day she had taken to bed rest, her mother had moved back into the nursery of her own choosing. She sucked in her breath and pushed open the door.

The darkness greeted her as she closed the distance to the little girl's ruffle bed in the back corner of the nursery- the bed she had slept in when she was a child. The rocking chair where her mother liked to sit was still angled toward the large window in the room and Nana the III was asleep beside the empty chair. As always, the nursery's only window was unlocked and open, with the glass pane pushed all the way up to let the cool, winter air and the snow flurries swoop inside the warm bedroom.

Mother Wendy was asleep in the bed, the covers pulled as high as her chin and triple-layered to keep the woman warm. The night lights on either side of the window cast somber shadows on the sleeping woman, sweeping over her pallid coloring and whispy, white waves of hair. Her unforgettable blue eyes were tightly closed and her ice cold hand was open, palm-up, on her feather pillow.

Jane studied her mother's face, leaning down to kiss the older woman's frozen, weathered cheek. "I love you, Mother." She smiled through her pain and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I've some news. You're going to be a grandmother of three now. I just found out this morning."

Mother Wendy flinched in her slumber, partially rolling onto her back. Then she opened her eyes. Despite the age and the illness that had worn her body down, her brilliant blue eyes were untouched. She tried to smile as she clutched her daughter's warm hand. "I'm so blessed to have such a family, my Jane." She patted the hand very slowly. "You look haggard. That is not good for the baby. Please take care of yourself, Jane."

"Mother…" Jane closed her eyes a moment, and then opened them again. "May I ask you something?"

Mother Wendy nodded. "Yes."

"In your sleep, you keep calling out for someone…" Jane stopped, unsure how to continue when her question was so impertinent.

Mother Wendy's face lit up the smallest bit and she widened her smile. "Peter?"

Jane sat back, slightly surprised. "Why…yes." She relaxed a little before continuing. "Father's name was Thomas, and none of your brothers are called Peter…"

"You met him once, Jane, a very long time ago when you were just a little girl." Mother Wendy started to sit up but the weakness of her bones prevented it. Instead, she lifted an arm up and pointed toward the open window. "He came through the window and went to your bed planning to wake you." A stronger smile came then as she recalled the memory. "He thought you were me, you see. He had returned to me, to take me back."

Jane was listening intently to her mother's story, half-wondering if it was a true memory or some mix of fact and fantasy that the older woman's imagination had compiled. "Returned? To take you back? Back where, Mother?"

"To Neverland. But I could not go with him. I was a wife and a mother by then." Mother Wendy looked off into the distance, her expression wistful. "I had grown up. Betrayed him. After that night, he never came again."

Jane patted her mother's hand. It was clear that this story had been mixed up with a real memory. Yet, she did not remember ever meeting anyone named Peter. "He meant a great deal to you, didn't he, Mother?"

Mother Wendy squeezed her daughter's hand. "Thomas was a wonderful man, but Peter Pan won my heart when I was very young and I never wanted it back." She held her daughter's confused gaze. "One day, you should ask your uncles about him. If they remember, those should be some entertaining stories."

"I'll do that." Jane promised, choking back her tears. "I'm sorry I woke you. You need rest so much these days."

Mother Wendy lifted her other hand up to caress her daughter's cheek. "I expect to have plenty of rest very soon. Tell David I said for him to take good care of my Jane and her coming daughter."

Jane blinked. "Daughter?"

Mother Wendy nodded. "You'd be amazed how clear things become on your deathbed." She watched Jane crumble and smiled warmly. "Shhh. My sweetheart. I've had my adventures." Her eyes danced in the weak light. "Even wrote about them. It's your turn and my granddaughter's turn."

"…What…makes…you…so…" Jane swallowed her tears. "certain it will be a girl?"

Mother Wendy grinned. "There are some things a woman learns, and then there are other things she simply knows. You will make a wonderful mother, Jane."

"I learned from the best." Jane answered, leaning over to kiss her mother's cheek once more. "I'll see you in the morning. May this Peter Pan inhabit your dreams."

Mother Wendy smiled and settled back down into the bed that was almost as small as the illness had caused her to become. "He always has."

Jane left the room with a heavy heart. Her mother seemed convinced her death was coming very soon, and the doctor had all but confirmed the possibility earlier. What could she do to fight fate? If her mother was ready to go, it was selfish to keep her alive.

She found her way to the bedroom she shared with her husband and undressed in the silence of her thoughts. When she was done, David welcomed her into bed with open arms and a sympathetic smile. She lay against his chest, listening to his heart, and began to cry all over again.

The Darling's grandfather clock in the downstairs hall chimed three o'clock in the morning as a pair of very dirty, bare feet alighted on the nursery windowsill. The owner of the feet made no move to speak, but stood there in the open window and studied the room. He was shocked how much he had forgotten about the Darling residence. Like which street the house sat on, for one.

He stepped off the windowsill and ran his dirty hand over one of the few things he did remember- the old rocking chair that sat in front of the window. He had a flash of memory and saw the night he had last been there. The last time he had seen her, sitting there in the rocking chair. But now it was empty.

He took another step and a shadowy figure snapped to attention, emitting a low warning growl. Instantly on alert, he pulled his dagger from its sheath on his side and waited. Another growl followed, and then a sleepy St. Bernard lumbered out of the shadows and eyed the intruder. He faced the dog, putting away the dagger, and smiled.

Nana III padded over to the corner where Wendy lay asleep and laid down on the floor at the foot of the bed.

He watched the animal closely and then made his way over to the bed himself. It was too dark to see her very well, but he had watched her sleep so much he easily imagined how she looked. Her hair was probably fanned out on the pillow away from her face, her eyes closed. He moved closer.

Wendy flipped over in her slumber, the covers sliding off, and whispered into the silence. "Peter…"

He froze. Her voice was lower, weaker than he remembered. He took another step toward the side of the bed. Wendy remained asleep. He gently reached out and shook her shoulder. "Wendy…"

Wendy's eyes opened as if drawn toward the sound and she lifted her head off the pillow. "…Peter…"

Peter Pan smiled. "Who else?" He stepped back a little, still unaccustomed to her new voice. "How're the Lost Boys?"

Wendy sat up. This poor boy had no idea what he was not seeing. She could not allow him to be swayed from believing she was still the way he remembered her. "They are doing well."

Peter Pan nodded, coming nearer to her. "The new Lost Boys and I reached a treaty with the Pirates. Captain Smee sends his regards- whatever those are." He sat down on the bed ignoring her personal space. Wendy wouldn't mind.

Wendy wanted to see him then. She cursed the darkness and wished the room could light up for just an instant, long enough to see him in all his glory. But then he would see her and she could not bear to cause him that much pain. She reached out for him, taking his hand into her own without thinking. "I'm glad you came back."

At her touch, Peter shot a look downward where their hands were locked together in the dark. Her touch was rough and cold as snow, nothing like the smooth, warm touch he had reveled in years back. "Wendy, you're so cold."

"I haven't been warm in a very long time." Wendy sighed. "My body is giving out, Peter."

Peter sprang from the bed. "NO!" He stood on the footboard of the bed, looking down at her. "I'll take you to Neverland."

"No, Peter." Wendy shook her head. "I would be a burden to you."

Peter walked across the bed, standing over her. "Never." He bent down into a squat a few feet from her. "Wendy…" He caressed her cheek in the darkness, taking note of how different her skin felt there as well. "I want to see you."

Wendy bent her head as tears slowly fell from her eyes. "Don't. I can't bear it." Peter's hand left her face and she could imagine the hurt expression in his vibrant green eyes. He would not understand. "I've changed so much, Peter. I'm not the Wendy you remember." There was silence in the room for a long time. Then the sound of a drawer being shut echoed in the darkness. The candle was in front of her face before she had a chance to shield herself.

Peter held the lit candle up and stared into the dark. The candle light spread over Wendy's white nightgown and climbed upward to her face. Several things had changed; she was right. She looked almost yellow instead of the cream coloring he remembered, and her skin was marked with brown spots. Her hair had thinned out drastically and was white as the snow on the windowsill. Her full lips dragged down at the corners and were closer to blue than the rose red he remembered. She would not look at him. Her gaze was focused on the covers laid over her legs. He lifted his free hand up to her face, tenderly gripping her chin and tilting her head up to meet his eyes. His voice was oddly husky. "There's something I would like to return to you."

Genuinely confused by how little he seemed to be repelled by her appearance, Wendy held his gaze. The candle light dusted his features with a soft glow and she welcomed the picture of him. His green eyes were locked on her face, his hand firmly under her chin. The sight of him after such a long time caused her voice to freeze in her throat. She did not want to open her mouth and spoil the moment. But Peter was intent on an answer; she could see that in the way he stayed motionless. She held out her hand. It was the best she could manage at the moment.

Peter caught a glimpse of her upturned palm and looked down. He softly laughed and responded to her silent gesture with his characteristic impish grin. He leaned forward, still holding her chin, and whispered into her ear. "You're still my Wendy and this belongs to you and always will."

Wendy's eyes widened at the familiar words, but before she could say anything Peter's soft lips touched her own. In that instant, she was twelve years old again. Everything melted away. Her life after Peter, her husband, her marriage, her daughter, all of it faded into fantasy as if she had told the story to John and Michael one night in the nursery instead of living it herself. It was a long time before Peter ended the kiss and sat back to watch her expression, but when he did all she could think about was the last time they had kissed. It had been her goodbye to him, and had ended up saving his life.

Peter studied Wendy carefully as her brow knitted in an expression he did not understand. Had he upset her somehow? "…Wendy…?"

Wendy smiled and took his hand, squeezing it affectionately. "Your kiss can't save me, Peter. Not this time. But it was a memorable goodbye." She clutched at her throat, feeling the barren skin where his acorn 'kiss' used to sit. "Don't forget me, okay."

Peter sucked in his breath. His eyes were beginning to tear. "Me…" He swallowed as the tears ran down his face. "…forget?..Never."

Wendy pressed her other hand to his cheek. "May I make a request?" Her voice was layered now, like it hurt her to speak.

"Yes." Peter looked up.

"Stay with me for a while." Wendy coughed after the last word, bright red blood trailing down her lips.

Peter nodded, moving to wipe away the blood. "Goodnight, Wendy."

Wendy's hand dropped from his cheek as another bout of coughing attacked her small, weakened, body. She fell back onto the bed, shaking and coughing. But Peter did not move from her side. She felt his tenderly tight grip as he held her hand, as unable to let go as she was. The coughing ceased enough for her to speak and she forced her voice to sound free of pain. "Goodnight, Peter." Then another bout of coughing rocked her body, trying to rip her hand from his determined grasp and failing.

Peter sat by Wendy's side, his hand clutching hers, and forced himself to stay strong as blood stained the sheets and ruined her white nightgown. He had seen many pirates die before, and some Indians. But this was different. This was Wendy. And he could do nothing to save her this time.

The great grandfather clock chimed four o'clock in the morning before he realized her hand was ice cold and her body was still. It was a minute past four when he broke down. But he could not let her go. He tightened his grip on her limp hand and pressed his forehead into the bed. His unbarred tears fell like torrents of rain and he shook from foot to head. His frustration rocked his body back and forth and his mind drifted to his favorite memory of Wendy.

He had been crying over his shadow and she'd awoken, looked over the footboard of her bed and asked him in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard….. "Boy, why are you crying?"

In the hours following her death, Peter sat in silence, holding onto Wendy's hand. A lot went through his mind before the day broke and the sun's light crept into the room. He had never stayed till morning before because it was too dangerous. But at the moment, he just did not care. Neverland was a hollow dream now. And England held no allure. His reasons to adhere to either place had died along with his Wendy. The only desire he had now was to stay here, stay by her side forever.

And that was the one desire he could no longer have.

At close to eight o'clock in the morning, Jane shuffled down the hall to her mother's bedroom while David dressed. She turned the door knob, pushed the door open, and froze mid-step. Slumped on the bed, next to a blood covered Mother Wendy, was a boy of about thirteen dressed in what looked like leaves and animal skins. She advanced quickly once she realized he was asleep, crossing the room in seconds prepared to shake him roughly awake.

But the sight that greeted her stopped her plans in their tracks. Her mother lay on her side, her nightgown and the sheets, as well as her hair, covered in massive amounts of blood, spotted all over the fabrics. Her right hand was resting inside the mysterious boy's untested hold, and there was a smile on her face.

"Peter…Pan…?" The name escaped before she realized what she had said, but the boy's head snapped up in response. He had not been asleep after all.

Peter turned to stare, with blood shot eyes, at the person who had addressed him. "I came back too late."

Jane felt her heart break at the words. The boy was in so much pain, and he was so young. She advanced to his side and set her hand on his shoulder. Peter Pan was clearly real and little girl Wendy had obviously meant as much to him as he had meant her. She bit back tears. "I'm Jane. Wendy was my mother."

Peter studied the woman before giving his reply. "Peter Pan. Wendy was my…" He paused. What had she been to him, really? He'd been enchanted by her stories, fallen for her friendship, saved by her love. He would give up anything to have her back; he knew that. There was only one word that summed up his feelings for his Wendy, feelings that had never abandoned him like he had abandoned her. "…everything." He finished.

Jane heard the catch in his voice, studied how he held onto her mother's long cold hand, and managed a comforting smile. "Would you like to stay for the funeral? I believe she would want you there. Whoever you are, she cherished your memory and it seems improper to exclude you. You may even have a place in her will."

Peter did not understand much of what the woman-Jane- said, but he nodded at her invitation for him to remain there. "I promised her I would stay." He gave her cold hand a final, tender squeeze, and released it. "What is a…will…?"

Jane was taken aback for a moment, and then shrugged it off. "It is a legal document in which the deceased has written down everything important to him or her. Who receives what upon their death. Where the finances will go. "

Peter simply nodded.

It was a week before Jane saw the mysterious Peter Pan again after her mother's funeral. He simply knocked on their front door, dressed once more in that odd nature ensemble, and asked if he had been mentioned in the will. It was her duty to tell him that his name had indeed come up, and hand over the little wooden box that her mother had bequeathed to 'Peter- my partner in adventure'. After that, he simply lifted into the air and flew away. That had been quite the surprise, but it was his secret to keep and her mother had kept it till her last breath. She could afford to continue the tradition.

Back in Neverland that same day, Peter sat cross-legged in the middle of the clearing where Wendy's little house stood exactly the same as the last time she had seen it. He had rebuilt it many times over the years, always determined for it to be ready and waiting when she returned. Now, it was the last thing in Neverland that reminded him of her.

He stared at the wooden box in front of him, his heart jumping inside his chest. What had she left behind for him? He had not opened the box yet. It seemed too important to do so anywhere but at Wendy's house. And so he had waited and waited. But he was there now and it was time to see what the contents were.

He lifted the lid and set it aside, peering into the open box with curiosity and trepidation. There was a black soft-feeling box, a folded piece of parchment, and an image of Wendy the way he remembered her as a child- cream colored skin, pink cheeks, rose red, full lips, brilliant blue eyes, and an infectious smile framed by thick, brown wavy hair.

He trailed his fingers over the image, lost in his memories. Then his curiosity got the better of him and he returned his attention to the strangely covered black box. He opened it not sure what to expect. There on a golden chain, curled up, was the acorn he had originally given her the first time they'd met. All these years and she had kept his 'kiss'. He took it out of the box and dangled the chain in the air, focusing on the acorn. The hole where Tootles' arrow had pierced it was still prominently set into the middle of the acorn. Your kiss can't save me this time, she had said. Now he understood. He fiddled with the intricate clasping mechanism and figured out how to unhook and re-hook the necklace, and then he hooked it around his own neck. The chain was big for him, reaching down to his chest, the acorn settling over his heart. Finally, he picked up the parchment and was suddenly very glad she had taught him how to read.

_Dearest Peter,_

_I know someday you will return for me and I will not be here. In this case, I have left you a photograph of myself and my most cherished possession- your kiss. I wish I could have stayed with you forever, but I had to grow up. I have a daughter now. Beautiful Jane. And someday she will have a daughter of her own. I know I can't keep you away from the window, so you have my permission to take any of my descendants to Neverland any time you wish. But you must understand that they cannot remain there anymore than I could. Growing up is not the horror you think it is. I look at it as my next great adventure and wish you would have the desire to experience the journey with me, but that will never happen. I know that. _

_Since you have permission to be in my descendants' lives, I want to make a request. I'd feel better if you looked in on the family from time to time in the future. I want them to know you the way I knew you, as my partner in adventure, the owner of my hidden kiss, and my first and strongest love. _

_Forever your Wendy_

When Peter finally looked up from the letter it was impossible to distinguish his tears from the rain peppering the paper. He put everything, except the necklace, back into the box and closed the lid. He stood up, tucking the box under his arm, and went to the little house in front of him. His hand was out before he knew what he was doing, and he pressed it flat against the door. "…Wendy…" He curled his fingers into the soft leaves that decorated the branches that made up the little door. "I'll miss you."

Then he turned and flew off into the rain, too spent to cry anymore. He would let Neverland cry for him for now. And when he was ready, he would return to the Darling's window to fulfill Wendy's last request.

A/N- As I said, this is a one-shot. However, if enough of you request more I will continue the story under a different title seeing as this one is all about Wendy. After all, Peter still has to make good on Wendy's final request...


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